
T5he 

Necken 




An Original Play 

In Two Acts by 

Elizabeth G. Crane 







THE NECKEN 

A Play in Two Acts 



BY 

ELIZABETH G. CRANE 



NEW YORK 

1913 






Copyright, 1913, by 
ELIZABETH G. CRANE 



ICI.D 33138 

Mi 



CHARACTERS. 

Sven, a farmer Conrad Cantzen 

Brita, his wife Kate Mayhew 

Toa, their daughter Alice Newell 

Inga, head-maid Alberta Gallatin 

Sigurd Ernest Weir 

Jan, the Necken Laurence Eyre 

Lennart William H. Post 

Astrid, a maid Edith Yeager 

A Monk George C. Currie 

Torvald, an old man George Cameron 

Svanhild, an old woman Lettie Ford 

First Maid Emily V. Lawshe 

Second Maid Isabel Calder 

Village Youth Marion Earnshaw 

Child Emmett Lawshe 

As presented by the Sydney Rosenfeld Production Co., 
under the auspices of the National Federation of Theatre 
Clubs, at the Lyceum Theatre (Daniel Frohman, Man- 
ager), New York, April 15, 1913. 



THE NECKEN 



ACT I. 

Scene I. 

SCENE: In Sweden. A large, low farmhouse kitchen, 
with two windows at the back, through which is seen a 
snozvy zvood at dusk. At one end is the house door, at the 
other end two doors lead into bedrooms, etc. In the mid- 
dle of the kitchen stands a long table. In one corner there 
is a small Christmas-tree decorated. A tire bums on the 
zvide hearth, which tills one corner of the room, and sev- 
eral pots hang from the chimney hooks above it, or stand on 
the iron slab itself. Inga is busy with preparations for 
supper. 

TIME: Christmas eve during the first two acts. Last 
act takes place on the first of May. 

Inga. 
[Goes to the outer door and calls.] 
Lennart ! Ho ! Lennart ! Did you ever see 
His like? To one spot rooted like a tree ! 
Quick, man, fetch me some rushes ; for the floor 
Is not half covered yet. Be quick! there's more 
Waits here the doing. Come, for once make haste ! 
'Tis almost supper time. I've none to waste ! 

5 



THE NECKEN. 

[She comes back into the room, and begins to set the 
table for supper, humming to herself. Brita enters through 
one of the doors at the back.] 

Brita. 
Is the Yule broth prepared? 

Inga. 

With her own hands 
Did little Toa make it ; there it stands ; 
Done to a turn in half an hour 'twill be. 

Brita. 
The holy candles of the Trinity ? 

Inga. 
Set in their three-fold candlestick, which bright 
I've burnished till it shines like silver quite. 

Brita. 
Where is your master? 

Inga. 
[Pointing to the other door at the back.] 

Why he sits within, 
And talks with the good father. 'Tis a sin 
The old man should have walked so far to-day 
To beg a Yuletide alms ! For surely they 
Have younger men to send from door to door. 
I asked him, would he take a sup before 
He left ; a bit of broth, a glass of mead ; 
He would not. Oh, he is a saint indeed, 
If there be any such! 

6 



THE NECKEN. 

Brita. 

Aye, that is so! 
A holy man he is ; but I must go 
Put on my Sunday gown. Look to the fire, 
Till I send Toa, then you may attire 
Yourself, eh? for poor Lennart? Spick and span 
In your new bodice ? 

Inga. 
Not for any man ! 
[Exit Brita. Inga continues setting table, singing an old 

Christmas carol.'] 
"As the shepherds kept watch o'er their flocks, they heard 
In the pastures where they were lying, 
Sudden at midnight, the angel's word, 
While the glory of God they were spying: 
Great joy and peace I bring to " [Enter Lennart 

with a bundle of rushes, which he begins to strew over 

the floor.] 
[Continues.] Wipe your shoes 
Upon the door-mat, stupid, or you lose 
Your share of hot Yule porridge. [Begins to sing carol 

again.] 
"Born to-day 

Great joy to all He's bringing 
Who is the Lord of David's line, 
The glorious light arising." — Did I say 
You should criss-cross the rushes in that way, 
To make us stumble every step we take? 
If you have brains, use them, for pity's sake. [Sings carol.] 
"With a loud voice then did the heavenly host 
Begin with the angel a-singing: 

7 



THE NECKEN. 

Peace be on earth, good-will " 

— What have you done? 
The Lord be praised, I am not such an one ! 
Much would I give to look inside your head ; 
But, as I cannot, tell me now, instead — 
For 'tis a thing I've often wished to know — 
How does it feel to be so very slow? 

If I were you 

Lennart. 
Oh, leave a man in peace ! 
You women chatter, chatter, without cease ! 
You rustle, bustle, hustle, here and there, 
And when all's said and done 

Inga. 
The tree — take ca/e ! 

Lennart. 
Beshrew me, if in spite of noise and rout 
I know what all the pother is about! 

Inga. 
You call us idle, then? 
But that's the way of men! 
We boil and brew, 
And bake and stew, 
We wash and scrub, 
And clean and rub, 
We sweep and churn, 
Old clothes we turn 
To look like new; 

8 



THE NECKEN. 

We patch and sew, 

But there's one thing we cannot mend : 
Your manners, and may heaven send 
You better ones ! 

Lennart. 
My faith, we too 
Have somewhat on the earth to do ! 
To mow the field, although I wot, 
To you it seems an easy lot, 
To bind the sheaves, and make the hay, 
To plough and harrow all the day, 
To weed, to sow, to thresh, to reap, 
To feed the cattle, shear the sheep, 
Fetch water, chop the wood, dig drains, 
And then be scolded for our pains ; 
By nightfall we have earned our rest. 

Inga. 
Well, well, I know you do your best. 

Lennart. 
Aye, all of us but one ; for not a thing 
That fellow does, whom master hired last spring. 

Inga. 
The handsome youth ? 

Lennart. 
Humph ! I've no use for such ! 
My word upon it, he's not good for much ! 
Well thatched, if there be emptiness instead 
Of mother-wit therein, what use is it 



THE NECKEN. 

To be so long of limb, and short of wit? 

I've watched him since he bargained for the place, 

And — like him not — for all his woman's face. 

Inga. 
What has he done? 

Lennart. 
Why, nothing; that is just 
The trouble. Not his bread, nor even its crust, 
He earns. The hay-mows rotting in the rain 
He leaves, and with the tare weeds up the grain. 
Oft have I seen him stand an hour and stare 
At some pestiferous weed, and let the share 
Sleep in the half-turned furrow; odder still — 
Believe or disbelieve it, as you will — 
Last night when with my lantern late the round 
I went of barn and stable, there I found 
He'd fed the cows their supper, each and all, 
But tied them tail-end-foremost in the stall. 

Inga. 
[Laughing.] If that's the worst! 

Lennart. 
Eh ! that's enough, I think, 
To drive an honest man like me to drink ! 
No, no, there's more in it than meets the sight! 

Inga. 
I feel, I know not why, all is not right. 
A gentle carle he seems, and yet I fear 



THE NECKEN. 

To be alone with him ; he is so queer ! 

Why does he mutter to himself, and croon 

Weird melodies beneath the waning moon? 

And why his head — 'tis strange — he never bares 

Without, within, the house, but ever wears 

That peaked cap, pulled down to shade his brows? 

And have you marked, then — you who talk of cows — 

How he, when yonder holy man is here, 

To every word he utters seems all ear, 

And sits with drooping head, as though he felt 

A sorrow, which the hardest heart would melt 

With pity, overbrim the coldest eye? 

Lennart. 
The saints be praised that I have kept mine dry ! 
Where are his own? Cast down; I cannot brook 
A young man so ashamed he dare not look 
His fellows in the face. [With lowered voice.] 

Crime heavy loads 
His weary conscience, and his presence bodes 
No good to us. Perchance some wicked plan 
He cloaks in pious sorrow. This strange man 
Will burn the roof above us, or, God wot, 
Bewitch, rob, murder us ; I know not what ! 
Or steal some maiden's love : in woman's heart 
Will pity take the very devil's part. 

Perhaps, already he 

Inga. 
[As Toa and monk enter from side-door.] For shame! 

Lennart. 
Has . 

ii 



THE NECKEN. 

Inga. 
Hush ! 

This is for To'mte* [Holding up small dish.] 
Take it to the bush 

Beside the great barn door ; nor look around 
When you have placed it there upon the ground, 
But quickly walk away. 

Toa. 
[Laughing.] And do not glance 

Back o'er your shoulder, should you even chance 
To hear a little laugh, or whisper brief, 
Light as the flutter of a withered leaf; 
Tis the kind spirit of the house. 

Inga. 
[Looking at Lennart.] He knows 

A thing or two. Uneasily he goes 
All night now to and fro ; in kitchen, bin, 
And larder rattles : all's not well ! 
[Exit Lennart with the dish — exit Inga.] 

Monk 

A sin 
These superstitions are, idolatrous ! 
For pagans fit, not Christians, child, like us. 
We know one, only Spirit, who is love; 
To Him all spirits in the heavens above, 
Or earth beneath, are subject: [Enter Jan quietly by the 
house-door, hardly visible at that dusky end of the 
room.] 

*Tomte: the Swedish house-spirit for whom a dish of food is always 
placed on Christmas eve. 



THE NECKEN. 

Good and ill 

In love or hate must carry out his will. 

And now goodnight! May Yuletide joy and peace 

Brood o'er this house, and hlessedly release 

Each soul from sin ! [He goes toward door and comes 
face to face with Jan, who draws back and looks long 
and earnestly upon him. Monk is struck by his ap- 
pearance, raises his hand in act of blessing, and says, 
while the other bozvs his head:] 

Oh, take my blessing too! 

This holy feast, son, bring goodwill to you ; 

Bring, if there's sorrow heaving in your breast, 

Peace to its troubled waters ! Be at rest ! 

[Exit Monk by house-door. Inga after a few zvords with 
Toa goes out at side-door. Toa continues the prepara- 
tions for supper, standing by the fire, while Jan goes 
over to a crucifix hanging on the wall, and stands gazing 
at it, lost in thought. There is no light but that of the 
fire in the room; the dusk darkening into night without 
the windows.] 

Toa. 

[Looks toward Jan, hesitates, makes a movement tozvard 
him, once, twice, and at last goes up to him and touches 
him gently on the shoulder. He starts, and turns tozvard 
her.] 

I cannot bear to see you sorrowful 

While we rejoice, that on this blessed night 

He, whose dear image here you gaze upon, 

Was born to save mankind. 

13 



THE NECKEN. 

Jan. 

[Pointing to crucifix.] Who slew him thus! 
But does it trouble you that I am sad? 

Toa. 
You are not like the rest; you do not go 
To dance or drinking-bout, but sit at home, 
And all your pleasure in your fiddle place. 

Jan. 
[Smiling as he looks in her face.] Not all. 

Toa. 
In something else you more delight 
Than in sweet music? 

Jan. 
Toa, I have given 
The richest treasure that my poor life owns — 
That music — to your keeping. 

Toa. 
Be assured 
I guard it well, for in my oaken chest, 
Soft in my lambskin folds, your fiddle sleeps. 
I would that I might learn to play upon it! 

Jan. 

[Taking her hand impetuously.] 
Could I endure this little hand of yours 
Upon my heart-strings ! Child — I fear — I fear 
It is too late; already you have touched them! 

14 



THE NECKEN. 

Toa. 
[Eagerly.] No, trust me, no ! 

Jan. 

Strange is the violin ! 
And subject to that mighty law, which makes 
High beauty from the soil of sorrow spring, 
For him alone who suffers will it sing. 
But you, whose sunny calm of youth as yet 
Was never ruffled, swept by the wild winds 
Of fear and grief, you cannot have the power, 
The awful power — and heaven forbid you should! — 
To loose the spirit chained, and send it forth 
Along the sounding strings. Ha, how they tremble, 
Like feathered grass low-bending, while that breath, 
Mysterious, passes over them and on 
To sway the souls of men ! 

Toa. 

One note, but one, 
I hear ring through the music of your speech : 
You suffer! Ah, I would not have you suffer; 
No, not for all the greatness in such grief ! 
For you are kind withal; of gentle word, 
And noble act — and so — for you — because — 
I like you — through my happiness to-night 
Throbs here [putting her hand to her heart] a pity, which 
is almost pain. 

Jan. 
Pain ! Pain, for me ! The plummet of your pity 
Can never sound the deep on deep that rolls 

15 



THE NECKEN. 

Above my head, who am forever doomed 
To rot among the wrecks of living things. 
But from your pain I, strangely cruel, suck 
Quick joy, which thrills along my sluggish veins 
A sudden tide of life. For me you suffer? 
For me, who creeping like a wounded thing 
Beneath the wing of your soft woman's presence, 
Found there safe shelter from hard, human eyes, 
Which pried into my hurt, and mocked my grief? 
For me, you suffer ! Toa, whose dear name 
Each night in reverence I dare to breathe 
Instead of prayer to heaven ! Whose low voice 
Like mighty music moves me, aye, it shakes 
The center of my being! Did you say, 
"You liked me?" Toa, there's a word of fire 
Glows on my tongue — if I dared flame it forth 
Instead of your cold "like," to kindle you 
And then consume you in its burning sweetness, 
As night and day I am consumed, yet die not: 
But no, I cannot — must not 

Toa. 
[Leaning toward him.] Whisper it; 
For if perchance it be the word my heart 
Has taught me — then 

Jan. 

My Toa, tempt me not! 
Let not your pity torture me with hope! 
Curse-bound both hand and foot, shall I be bold 
To lift my longing eyes to such as you? 
Be harsh with me! Oh, punish me with scorn; 

16 



THE NECKEN. 

And I will thank you for the gracious gift, 

But oh, your kindness, like the fiery fumes 

Of a strong wine, heats, whirling, my weak brain — 

Beware lest I grow drunken with it! 

Toa. 
Yet 

If I confessed what maiden must not speak; 

Must barely think, locked in the cloistered cell 

Of her own breast, her hot cheeks dyed with blushes, 

As mine are now — if I confessed to you 

What I have never said to any man — 

I love you 

Jan. 
Toa, of all mortal maids 
The sweetest, do I dream, or waking hear 
Your voice? "I love you!" with those magic words 
You open wide the gates of heaven itself, 
And with the blessed light and warmth of Yule 
Flood all my dark! Oh, joy! Oh, rapture! Love, 
I'd hear once more, if only in my dream, 
Those words from your dear mouth drop, pearl by pearl, 
Into my listening heart ! 

Toa. 
And mine shall brave 
These burning blushes, Jan, for it is yours 
Through good and ill. Oh, therefore, share with me 
This grief mysterious, which oppresses you. 
I'll cherish it and hold it dearer far 
Than all my joys; and this I surely know, 
That if, like one of our tall mountain peaks, 
It overhang the valley of your life, 

17 



THE NECKEN. 

And with its frown obscure your sun at morn, 
At noontide and at night, yet never can 
The noble heart be fettered by a curse ! 
Then tell me 

Jan. 

No! 

Toa. 

Pray! 

Jan. 
Let me snatch this night 
From sorrow past and sorrow that's to come ! 
Blot all things from my memory but love. 
Who knows but God will end all else to-night; 
And we who gallop through these rushing hours 
On our winged happiness, high over earth, 
As if we rode the constellation called 
By men : "the flying horse" ; we two, my star 
Whose glory pales not in that dreadful dawn 
Of judgment, smiling at my breast, and I 
Will at the crack of doom through smoke and flame, 
Rapt in the heaven of each other's eyes, 
Leap down the vast abyss, and 'mid the thunder 
Of falling worlds be swallowed up for aye! 
You tremble, you turn pale ? 

Toa. 
Hush ; someone comes ! 

18 



THE NECKEN. 

Jan. 

[Quickly kissing her hand.] 
Then will I take this fair Yule gift from you; 
Nay, then, my lips shall borrow and repay 
A thousand-fold, I swear, when next we meet: 
When shall it be? To-night? 

Toa. 
Perhaps. 

Jan. 
Soon, soon ! 

Toa. 
[Enter Inga.] I know not — after supper 

Jan. 

[Low.] Sweetheart! 

Inga. 
[Sniffing the air.] Whew ! 
I smell a burning! Toa, have you let 
The porridge burn ? 

Jan. 
[Low to Toa.] No porridge, but my heart! 

Inga. 
Quick, Toa, it boils over ! Careless child, 
You should have watched it! 

Toa. 
[Looking at the porridge.] Not much harm is done, I hope ! 

19 



THE NECKEN. 

Inga. 
[Looking at Jan.] Humph! who can tell! 

Toa. 
Oh, taste and see ! 
Such harm, that only you of all on earth 
Can heal it. 

Inga. 
[To Jan.] You said? 

Jan. 
Nothing. 

Inga. 

[To Toa.] All is ready. 

The holy candles light, and blow the horn 

For supper. [As Toa lights the candles and sets them on 
the table, Jan goes to the window and, while he stands 
there looking out, draws his hat down further over his 
face. Toa blozcs the birch horn at the house-door. 
Enter Sven, Brita, Astrid, Sigurd and Lennart. All 
sit down to the table but Toa, zvho takes the dish of 
porridge to pass it.] 

Sven. 

If you are hungry as I am, fall to! 

For good Yule suppers come but once a year. 

Bring, Toa child, the porridge! [Toa passes it to her 
father.] 

I remember 

My first Yule porridge. In my father's house 

My father's mother fed me on her knee. 



THE NECKEN. 

Ah, those were times ! She was a woman cast 
In larger mould of body and of mind 
Than nature turns out now. 

Brita. 
So was my mother. 
How snugly would she stow us in the sledge, 
My brothers and myself! Twelve miles or more 
To mass we rode Yule morning. 

Sven. 

Brita, you 
Put me in mind; I had forgotten it; 
The big sledge, Lennart, is it fit for use? 
I promised the good father all should go 
To early mass to-morrow. There will be 
The old Yule hymns, well sung, the church alight 
With many hundred candles ; we shall see 
The blessed Mother bending o'er her Babe, 
While round the manger stand the large-eyed cows, 
With sheep, and kneeling shepherds who adore; 
All done in wax, as large and fine as life: 
A sight that none must miss. 

Lennart. 
[To Jan.] Observe, the cows 
Are to the manger tied ; their heads where heads, 
And tails where tails, should be. 
[To Sven.] The sledge stands ready 
Down to the runners, which I made last week : 
No thanks to him who should have looked to it. 
[To Inga.] Mark how his melancholic humor grows! 

21 



THE NECKEN. 

Inga. 
[To Lennart.] And something else I've marked. 
[Whispers.] 

Brita. 
[To Toa.] A little burned 
Your porridge is, my child. 

Astrid. 
The saying runs : 
The maid who burns Yule porridge has no luck 
In love. [Toa turns to the hearth to hide her confusion.] 

Sigurd. 
What gives a man bad luck therein? 

Inga. 
Not one, but many foolish things he does. 

Sven. 
Ha ! Ha ! The sharp-tongued Inga ever gets 
The better of you all. 

Sigurd. 
My faith, to-night 
She is as biting as the frost without; 
And that is sharp enough ; it, snapping, cracked 
The great tree-boughs as I came through the wood, 
As though some hungry dog did crunch a bone. 

Astrid. 
There is no moon? 



THE NECKEN. 

Sigurd. 
The night is thick with cloud. 

Brita. 
But we shall have the candle's twinkling shine 
From every cottage window on our way 
To church. 

Toa. 
[Passing the porridge to Jan.] 
Why is it, that these many months 
You've never played for us, no, not a note? 
Now let me fetch your fiddle from my chamber, 
And you shall play a good Yule psalm. 

Jan. 

[With a reckless laugh.] Ha! Ha! 

Would not the De Profundis match my mood? 

Believe me, Toa, if I played to-night 

I'd whelm you in a rush of sounds so sweet, 

A tumult of such passion and such pain, 

You'd weep despite your gladness bitterly, 

And, ravished, smile through all your falling tears ; 

For I should play upon your souls to-night, 

And so — I will not. 

Toa. 
Ah! 

Jan. 
[Lozv to Toa.] For you alone 

[Aloud.] I'll play to-night the March wind's melody, 
When to his whistling fife in naked trees 
He moves the sappy blood to mount and mount 

23 



THE NECKEN. 

With dancing step, till in the topmost twig 
It yearns forth into tender, blushing bud 
Against the stormy breast of driving cloud ; 
That measure plaintive-sweet, but strong as death, 
Which headlong to the river draws the brook, 
The river to the sea, makes creeping tides 
The whole earth round to follow the fair moon, 
Points, true as needle to the polar star, 
Each bird through unknown, airy wildernesses, 
To his own mate, and lures reluctant spring, 
Long loitering in the south, up day by day 
To the tempestuous north, until, rough-armed, 
He clasps her close, and in its melting sound 
Dies the last maiden chill of her embrace. 

Toa. 
Hush ! Hush ! 

Inga. 
\To Lennart.] Seems he not happy? 

Lennart. 
[To Inga.] Strangely so! 

I cannot make him out. 

SVEN. 

[Rising, glass in hand.] Fill up, my Toa, 
With flowing mead the goblet ! Children, drink 
The first of toasts, that all our fathers drank 
Upon this holy night : to the great Name 
Above all other names in heaven or earth ! [He drinks, 
then passes the goblet to his wife and daughter, and so 
on from hand to hand the goblet passes down the table, 

24 



THE NECKEN. 

each drinking in turn until it reaches Jan, who grows 
very pale, hesitates, then tries to carry it with his 
trembling hand to his lips, once and twice. All eyes 
are gradually turned to him during his vain attempts. 
Whispers, and then a grozving murmur among those at 
table.] 

Sigurd. 
He cannot drink the toast. 

Brita. 
Look you, he grows 
White as the snow without. 

Astrid. 
And vainly strives 
To lift the goblet with his shaking hand ! 

Lennart. 
He has an evil conscience ; from the first 
I knew it ! 

Tnga. 
[As they rise in confusion.] This is wicked work of trolls ! 

Astrid. 
There's magic here! 

Voices. 
Drink ! 

SVEN. 

Fellow, bare the head, 
And pledge the holy Name. 

25 



THE NECKEN. 





Toa. 


[To Sven.] Oh, 


pity him ! 


He is not well, my father ! 




Sven. 


Well enough ! 






Voices. 


He cannot! 






Lennart. 


He blasphemes ! 





Sven. 
[Striding up to him and snatching off his cap.] So, off 
with it ! [There is a cry of surprise from all, as his long, 
green hair falls on his shoulders. He gases imploringly 
up into Sven's face.] What have we here ! 

Voices. 
Look, look, his hair waves green 
As long sea-grass ! 

Sigurd. 
And do you mark his eyes ; 
No longer hid, they sparkle now, now grow 
Green as deep water! 

Sven. 

Vacant into mine 
They stare ; blank windows of a haunted house, 
Where no man dwells, or dwelt, these many years. 

Astrid. 
No, no, they change, for now like ice they glitter ! 
26 



THE NECKEN. 

Inga. 
White as the wild leap of a waterfall! 

Lennart. 
'Twas not for nothing, I have long suspected, 
He wore his ugly cap both night and day. 

Sven. 
Now breaks a light upon me! Have I been 
So blind these many months, who could not see 
This was a Neck ! Slipped from his murmuring brook 
Below the meadow, when the day grew long 
Last spring, and wrapped in purpling dusk he stole 
With evening in the house. The muffler-cap, 
My rusty, iron scythe, the only pay 
He asked for one year's labor; proof on proof; 
For iron is a mighty medicine 
'Gainst magic, and its balm upon his breast 
He fain would lay to cool his fever hot 
And still his ache of anguish. Holy Mother, 
Protect the house that harbored such a guest ! 

Astrid. 
I dare not meet his glance lest it bewitch me ! 

Brita. 
Oh, call those eyes unfathomed wells of woe, 
That mirror inwardly some dreadful sight, 
Which yet no man has ever gazed upon; 
For never have I seen such dark despair 

27 



THE NECKEN. 

Gloom any human face ; and this is none. 
Scarce I endure his mute, imploring look ! 

Toa. 
[Low.] Ah, my poor heart, he could deceive thee thus! 

Jan. 
[Groaning.] Undone! Undone! Oh, miserable me! 
Damned in the making; wherefore was I made? 
Between the man and brute, flung out afar 
Beyond redemption's pale ! What hope for me, 
Who cannot die nor live? Lost, lost forever! 



We'll none of him! 
The kobold ! 

Away with him ! 



Lennart. 

Sigurd. 

Lennart. 

Thrust him out; 



Astrid. 
Be sure, some evil follows 
Hard at his heels! 

Jan. 
[Rising.] I go, nor will I ask 
For mercy; well I know that you have none! 
I know that man bears in his breast a stone 
He calls his heart, cold, harder far than flint, 
And I'll not break mine own in tears upon it. 
Farewell ! Yet there is one — to whom I'd say — 
If I durst — pity me 

28 



THE NECKEN. 

[He pauses, looking earnestly at Toa, takes a step tozvard 

her, but stops as she turns away.] My child, that cut 
Deep, deep to my heart's core ! And so you follow 
Your great, white Christ, who brought to-night goodwill 
And peace to men — alone ! I thank my gods 
I am not His! Farewell! 



Sven. 
Come, come, be off ! [Exit Jan.] 

Lennart. 
[Throwing the old scythe after him.] 
Here go your iron wages after you! [To the rest. 
Lest he should say of aught we cheated him. 



ACT I. 

Scene II. 

[Toa'-j chamber at midnight. It is on the ground floor, 
simply furnished and lighted by tzvo tallozv candles. The 
bed stands in one corner, and in the center of the room is 
a large, carved chest, closed. A window in the background 
shows the snozv-covered zvood without. There is a door 
on the right. A small shrine, zvith a figure of the Virgin 
and a lighted taper before it, stands in the room. Toa is 
lying on the floor zvith her arms outstretched on the chest, 
and her head resting on them, as though exhausted by long 
weeping. Pause.] 

29 



THE NECKEN. 

Toa. 
No more! 

Lest I go mad and shriek my shameful wound 
Through all the sleeping house ! [She sits up.] 
Oh, bitter tears, wash clean my memory 
Of his polluting stain; leave naught of him 
But this — by him forgotten. [She opens the chest and 

takes out the violin.] Yet he said, 
You were his heart-strings! Would to heaven you were, 
That I might snap you, quivering in death, 
With my own hands ! No, let us rather weep 
Together, for you were his sweetheart too. 
Of some strange wood, with carvings quaint enriched, 
Your rare, outlandish beauty won his heart. [She holds 

up the violin.] 
Where is your ruthless master, he that probed 
Your soul and mine down to the tender quick, 
Then falsely left us to the selfsame fate? 
Away ! I cannot bear to look upon you ! [She rises and 

goes toward the shrine.] 
Oh, blessed Mother, pity me this night ! 
In one short hour dashed from the highest point 
Of human joy to lowest depth of grief. [She takes her 

rosary and kneels, but rises after a moment and paces 

up and dozvn the room.] 
Rest! Rest! I cannot rest! [She goes toward the chest 

again.] 
There lurks a subtle power about you still, 
For evil? Good? I know not. Will you speak? [She 

takes up the violin and passes her hand over the strings.] 
Here, where his hateful hand caressed you oft, 

30 



THE NECKEN. 

My rude touch you shall feel. [The strings sound.] 

Saints, what a cry ! 
As of a far voice wailing down the years, 
It shuddered through me ! Do you mourn for him ? 
Peace! Peace! I say! [She lays down the violin and 

goes again toward the shrine.] 
I will go breathe one prayer! 
[She kneels, but rises directly.] 
I cannot pray, 

So heavily do grief and anger press 
Upon my panting heart ! I suffocate, 
Penned in these narrow walls — I [She opens the 

window.] 
Hush ! That sound ! 

Whence came it? [A deep sigh is heard.] 
The sighing as of one in pain. My heart, 
That sighed, or rather your complaining voice, 
Still whispering in the rafters of the roof? [She goes to 

the violin again and touches the strings. They sound, 

and afterwards a profound sigh is heard once more.] 
Again ! Oh, shield me heaven ! As if it rose 
From the deep bosom of the earth herself ! [She goes to 

the open window and looks out.] 
Cold and still 

She lies, white-shrouded for her burial ; 
Dead as my love, and o'er her frozen face 
The leaden sky shuts like a coffin lid. 
Oh ! [Screams.] Holy Virgin ! 

Voice of Necken [without]. 
Hark, ere it shut down 
Forever; hark! the voice of one who died 

31 



THE NECKEN. 

To-night; and all things that are dead, with him 
Low-calling from the ground ! 

Toa 
[Leaves the zvindow, making the sign of the cross.] 
What's to be done? 

He stands without ! I cannot — dare not, see him 
Alone! At night! What if he force his way 
In anger to me! 

Necken. 
[From zvithout.] Toa, not the cross 
Whose empty sign above your fluttering heart 
You make, nor suppliant knee, nor pious prayer 
To yonder painted image of your god, 
Can bar me out : I come to keep our tryst. 

Toa. 
Our tryst! Begone! Have you no fear, no shame? 



Necken. 



Despair knows none. 



Toa. 
Oh, leave me, I command you ! 
Nay, then, I will implore 

Necken. 

I cannot go; 
For still you hold me by one quivering cord, 
Which must be snapt asunder, though my life — 
Alas — break with it! 

32 



THE NECKEN. 

Toa. 
Then if that be true, 
So help me heaven, we'll break it face to face ! 
The saints protect me! Ave Mary plena [telling her beads] 
I too dare keep our tryst. [As she runs to fetch a cloak and 
throws it around her head and shoulders, the scene 
changes.] 



ACT I. 

Scene III. 

[The outside of the house zvith the low zvindow of Toa's 
chamber opening tozvard the zvood. Its pines and firs are 
covered with snow, and approach very near to the house. 
The night is cloudy but not dark. By the windozv stands 
Necken zvrapped in a long dark cloak; he leans, bare- 
headed, against the ledge, which is as high as his breast, 
but drazvs back as Toa appears at the zvindow. The lighted 
shrine is seen through the zvindow behind Toa.] 

Toa. 
Unquiet spirit, 
Still walking up and down and to and fro 
Upon our earth, what would you have with me? 

Necken. 
Am I thus grown a shadow to your thought? 
You loved me once ; have you forgot so soon ? 
This very night which, listening, hears you speak 

33 



THE NECKEN. 

Such bitter words heard others from your lips 
Fall honey-sweet. My child, be not afraid, 
Nor tremble like an aspen in the breath 
Of my reproach ; though I am beaten down, 
Crushed, pelted by the muddy scorn of men, 
Still, still, I love you! [She draws back.] 
Never shrink from me ! 
I'll fold my longing arms above my heart, 
Which cries for you as hungry men for bread, 
Nor shall my touch, my word, or look offend 
The reverent love I bear you ! 

Toa. 
[With emotion, half zveeping.] Idle words! 

Jan — say no more 

Necken. 

The little human name 
Which I was wont to love, against your will 
Slipped softly from your lips. 

Toa. 
[Regaining her composure.] Had I foreseen 
That trick of habit, I had strangled first 
The breath that uttered it! 

Necken. 

Yet I will plead, 
Oh, unjust judge, my cause ; weigh then my sin 
Well in the scales of mercy; balance it 
With my most heavy lot and iron round 
Of suffering, before you dare to speak 

34 



THE NEC KEN. 

The "guilty" which, too well I know, your heart 
Already has pronounced. 

To A. 

Unwilling, I, 
Perforce, must hear you, yet be warned, my patience 
Wears thin — to very shreds. 

Necken. 
The favorite man, 
Placed by our partial Maker on the point 
Which tops His vast creation ; from that summit 
How can his purblind eye and his dull ear 
Catch sight and sound of all the beauteous life 
Of element, of plant and animal 
Thronging its mighty base ! But I, who stand 
Before you here, grew once with leafy growth 
Of tree and shrub, flew in the spark from fire, 
Tossed in the white-capped wave, in the loud wind 
Passed querulous, or floated in the cloud 
Still over summer pastures, or, thick-piling 
Cloud upon cloud till high they darkly towered 
Above the green and sultry earth, myself 
I bowed o'er their far-thundering battlements 
In lightning's leap from end to end of heaven: 
Such uncouth joy have elemental things ! 
At last, methought, there dawned a blessed day 
Above all others — now, alas, I know 
It was of all my life the day accursed 
When, how or whence I know not, music breathed 
A vital breath, a pulse of melody 
Through this my essence vaporous, diffused, 
Which in cold sweat condensing, travail seized 

35 



THE NECKEN. 

My airy frame, convulsed with dreadful throes; 
Born of that liquid death, lo, I became 
A spirit! 

Toa. 
Fast this tale of yours outruns 
My slow belief ! 

Necken. 
And my calm breast was flooded 
With the in-rushing tide of hopes and fears, 
Of sorrow, rapture, the wild wave of passion, 
Such good, such evil, as I had not dreamed. 
What though I sat among the sons of earth 
A mighty potentate, my power rolling 
Along my brooks and rivers, yet I found 
No peace within, and 'mid the battle here 
[Laying his hand on his breast.] 
Hard pressed, beseeching eyes to man I lifted ! 
He holds the secret of Eternal Hope; 
To him alone imparted. I drew near, 
For all my heart was centered in desire 
That, should he reach me forth a brother's hand 
To help me in the fight, I following him, 
Though stumbling far behind, might storm at last, 
Above the prostrate bodies of my sins, 
The stronghold of salvation, which, besieging, 
No beast nor host of lesser lives may enter. 
For this I mingled with the ways of man : 
The rest you know. I served him for a year; 
Drudged at his menial tasks ; but what cared I 
When, Toa, my bare life grew all in flower 
With love of you, sweet! 

36 



THE NECKEN. 

Toa. 
You have spoken truth; 
Too well I know the rest ! For you, who roamed 
God's universe an unhoused vagabond, 
You dared to enter thus an honest home, 
To slink, a thief, into my open heart 
And, muffled in a lie, to filch my love ; 
Oh, while you spoke, a shudder through me ran, 
That ever I should love man's pale reflection 
Glassed in the mocking water! Nameless thing! 
You breath of evil from the pit upwafted ; 
You nothing, which rebels against the Highest ! 
You creature formed of empty fret and foam, 
Bound up forever with the babbling brook, 
Oh, how I hate — I hate you! 

Necken. 
Dear to me 
Beyond your love or hate, whate'er betide, 
Forgive me that my heart went forth to you 
In ardent sighing; ravished out of me 
By all your grace of look and word and motion : 
Forgive, that from my deep wound languishing, 
As one with fever parched, who, hour by hour, 
Pants for the cooling draught, I longed to still 
The ceaseless throb of passion ; that in madness 
I dared aspire to fill my bleeding void 
Of anguish with your heart; fear not — 'tis over; 
My fever-fit burns out, and through my veins 
There creeps the chill of death. Like some wild mountain, 
Whose fiery heart, erst wrung with awful pangs, 

37 



THE NECKEN. 

Heaved all his groaning breast and, breaking, poured 

Convulsive forth in gasps of smoke and flame, 

Hot lava shuddering upward like a sigh 

That fain would pierce with pity his cold heaven, 

Listening unmoved high o'er his agony; 

Like hiin, henceforth my thunderings die off 

Into the stillness deep as my despair : 

And though within the sullen fires will smoulder, 

Without I'll bare my scarred breast to the breeze 

Of summer, to the little brooks at play, 

To cloud and sunshine, to the tender green 

Which timidly creeps up my barren clefts, 

And all this simple life I'll nourish far, 

Far from the haunts of man, for nevermore 

His threshold will I cross, or from him brook 

The frowning brows, the down-curved mouth of scorn ; 

My curse upon him ! So farewell, my sweet ! 

My bitter — bitter sweet! I held you once 

More close to me than aught in earth or heaven, 

And, though your will has snatched you from these arms, 

I'll ever hold you dearer far than life! 

My first love and my last — my only love 

Till all things have an end ; farewell ! farewell ! 

Give me my violin, and let me go ! 

Toa. 
[Starting.) 'Tis true! Almost I had forgotten it! 
I have it still. 

Necken. 
Make haste, and fetch it hither, 
For in the sight of your cold loveliness 
I suffer — I grow faint ! I would be gone 

38 



THE NECKEN. 

To hide my pain in some dark, forest place 
Beneath the moaning pines. 

Toa. 

I think you said 
You loved the fiddle well? 

Necken. 

And wherefore not ; 
Consoler, friend, whose voice henceforth with mine 
Must mourn away the melancholy years? 
Haste then, and bring it forth. 

Toa. 

[Leaves the window, and returns with the violin.] 

Behold it, Neck, 

And look your last upon it ! Mark it well, 

And me ; this moment quits my debt in full 

With my revenge. From you that stole my love 

I take this fiddle, lest you should forget 

That earthly maids have hearts. 

Necken. 
Is this a time for jesting? 

Toa. 

I will keep it 
To put me oft in mind how wisely once 
The waters went a-wooing! 

39 



THE NECKEN. 

Necken. 
Do you mock me? 
Ah, Toa, what is this? 

Toa. 
My words were spoken 
With truth, each one, and full of my fixed purpose. 

Necken. 
No, no, I'll not believe it ! I'll not think 
A thought which slanders you ! 

Toa. 
I'll think, and — act. 

Necken. 
[Groaning.] Spare me this mortal blow! 

Toa. 
Shall I in mercy spare the heathen Neck, 
Who sought to snare a Christian maid in marriage? 
No, no, a thousand times ! Back, impious spirit, 
Back to your prison-house, the hollow deep, 
Where the Creator pens you since the flood ! 
There may you sit unblessed through centuries, 
And watch the shadows of our human life 
Move o'er its greenish walls. But I'll not part 
With this fair troth-gift from my elfin lover; 

For else 

Necken. 
I will be patient ! 

40 



THE NECKEN. 

Toa. 
Who knows : love 
Is fickle ! 

Necken. 

Let not choler, choking, knot 
The muscles of my throat ! Let me not weep 
A woman's tears ! 

Toa. 
And running toward the sea, 
Might float it with the kiss snatched from these lips 
To some fair mermaid ! Nay, be calm, I pray you ! 
Perchance ! — for said you not that they who suffer, 
And they alone, can play — I now have learned 
To touch these strings to music. Then, heaven knows, 
This night should make me master and supreme; 
For I have — suffered ! [She falters and begins to sob. 

Necken. 
Oh, all ye powers 
Of the upper air — if there be such, who sit 
To judge this miserable race of men — 
When have you seen that love and hate, embracing, 
In such unnatural wedlock did beget 
A deed so monstrous! They are near — so near 
Of kin — so like — ah, Toa, hear me ! Pause 
Before it be too late ! Look well, my child, 
Lest in the dim recesses of your heart 
You have mistaken love, still lurking there, 
Tricked out and flaunting in the madman's dress 
Of hate, for him! 

41 



THE NECKEN. 

Toa. 
I will not. Say no more! 
Away ! Go tell that to your nixie loves ; 
Perchance they may believe you ; and for this ! 
Get you another fiddle ! Fare-you-well ! 

Necken. 
Dare you insult me thus? 

Toa. 
I dare. 

Necken. 
Rash woman ! 
Wake not the demon slumbering in my breast ! 

Toa. 
Aye, flash him forth in lightning from your eyes ! 
Roll him in deep-toned thunders through your voice ! 
I care not! 

Necken. 
[Drawing nearer to her.] Mortal, think not to escape 
My vengeance ; for, as we stand face to face, 
Dear shall you pay me for this night ! I'll wring 
Its every minute back from you, be sure, 
In tears, in supplication, terror, torment ; 
For you have mocked my sufferings with taunts, 
With bitter gibes you have despised my love, 
You've spit your scorn upon it, flung it back 
Full in my face, and now you overwhelm me 
With this black wave of wrong, the rest o'erswelling ; 
You rob me of my own, that music left 
Sole consolation of my stricken heart. 

42 



THE NECKEN. 

Of water part, yet I am part of fire; 
Fool, you have set this kindling match to me, 
Who will, alight now, blaze myself and you 
To dire combustion ! Look you, I could leap 
This window-ledge and seize you both ! 

Toa. 
[Drawing back.] Avaunt! 
The blessed saints, the holy Virgin yonder, 

[Pointing to the shrine.] 
Protect me, for you dare not enter here ! 
No evil spirit may defile her presence ! 
I have no fear. 

Necken. 
Now by the earth I swear ; 
Not all the saints and virgins of your heaven, 
Nor all the devils red-hot from your hell, 
Shall hold me back from you ! The wrong I suffer 
Becomes my right to enter. By the law 
Of gods and men, I justly, o'er the soul 
Which has defrauded me of what is mine, 
Have power of life and death. 

Toa. 

Oh, never ! 

Necken. 
Yet 
I will not cleave your falseness to the root 
With the sharp stroke of punishment that follows 
Swift on the evil done; no, mine shall be 
A slow and sweet revenge. When in the spring 

43 



THE NECKEN. 

Soft languor, like a subtle poison stealing 

Delicious through your senses, stamps on each 

One hated image only, charming you 

Fast to a foe abhorred, when at your touch, 

In very truth, at last my violin 

Flings wide the vibrant gates of sound and pours 

Its music forth, when in that fatal hour 

Your hands shall play what, hearing once, the heart 

Can ne'er forget, the march that moves the worlds 

With solemn step along th' eternal highway; 

Then, then my wrongs remember, for that strain, 

So weighted with my woe, shall draw you down, 

In fear and hatred down, and, link by link, 

Its chain of silver notes about you winding, 

Deliver you up, soul and body, captive 

To these detested arms, which death himself 

Shall never burst asunder ! Fare-you-well, 

Until we meet again : meantime that thought 

Both meat and drink shall be to my revenge ! 



44 



ACT II. 

Scene I. 

[The meadow before the house, bordered on three sides 
by the wood, through which a path runs down to the brook. 
Brita and Astrid are seated at a loom zveaving. Time late 
afternoon. Enter Sven.] 

SVEN. 

So, mother, since it is the first of May, 

Let maids and men keep merry holiday ! 

Now — praise God — with the winter at our back, 

Our ploughing and our planting we may slack 

An hour or two, and so the farmer stops, 

Between the winter snows and summer crops, 

To breathe awhile; a bit of comfort taste 

And pleasure in his life ; so mother, haste ! 

Call in the neighbors, who have faced with us, 

Staunch friends, the dark and stormy days, and thus 

We'll give a rouse and welcome to the spring. 

Not for their use alone each needful thing, 

In season due, the good God giveth men, 

But for return of thanks and pleasure; then, 

Let us be merry ! 

Brita. 
Father, that is true! 
And they'll bestir themselves, I warrant you, 
The young ones ! 

45 



THE NECKEN. 

ASTRID. 

Master, thanks. 

Brita. 
[To Astrid.] Put by the loom. 
This meadow makes a green and pleasant room 
For fun and frolic. [Enter Sigurd.] 

SVEN. 

Tell me, Sigurd, how — 
For you came through the lower wood but now — 
Thrive the young trees I planted? 

Sigurd. 

Yonder brook 
Has overflowed them all. The water took — 
I waded through — last night the bridge away. 
'Tis rising, rising still ; since yesterday 
It rushes, foaming, with a sullen roar 
Between its banks, that widen more and more, 
As panting to avenge some bitter wrong, 
The angry water hurries thus along! 

Sven. 
Tut, man, such fine-spun fancies in the head 
Will soon breed others worse. Leave them instead 
To poet- fellows, stringing one by one 
Their tinkling rhymes together; for the sun, 
The worm, the donkey, heart — or stomach-ache; 
All's grist to clapper-mills, that verses make. 
No more of them! Haste to the field and send 

46 



THE NEC KEN. 

Our men back from their ploughing, while I wend 

My way to neighbor Torvald, and invite 

His folk and him to step across. [Exit Sven and Sigurd.] 

Astrid. 

A fright 
Has Sigurd given me ! Oh, wherefore should 
Our gentle brook thus overflow the wood? 
A sudden horror chills me to the bone, 
What seeks the creeping water ! Stone by stone 
We bound the sullen Neck ; with muttered prayers 
Crippling his magic strength, but, unawares, 
With melting ice his winter chain he's burst 
Perchance, and walks again ; the goblin curst ! 

Brita. 
"A good man's prayer," we read in Holy Writ, 
"Availeth much." Have you no faith in it, 
Nor in good woman's neither? Fie, for shame, 
Speak nevermore that poor, lost creature's name! [Enter 

Toa.] 
Why, how now, Toa, rosy-checked and fresh 
As May herself ! 

Astrid. 
[Laughing.'] All ready to enmesh 
A dozen hearts and more ! 

Brita. 
What nonsense, child! 
But now, methinks, your look is somewhat wild : 
What has befallen you? 

47 



THE NECKEN. 

Toa. 
The wakened beat 
Of spring through all my pulses ; in my feet 
The dancing joy of blossoms in the wind, 
For now I open with each flower kind 
My being to the sun, and my cheek feels 
The warm blood flush it like the sap that steals 
From glad earth upward, reddening through the bark 
Of slender, chanting pines. All night — oh hark ! 
It swells and dies away — the murmur clear 
Of many waters, calling in my ear; 
Low, liquid laughters mocking my unrest! 

ASTRID. 

Of waters, ah ! 

Toa. 
And longing in my breast 
Still waxes night by night; a crescent moon 
That never wanes, until my senses swoon 
With languor sweet away in soft-armed dreams, 
Wherein a mighty river alway seems 
To bear me — whither? Thus my longing grows 
For what? Alas, I know not! 

Brita. 
Humph ! Who knows ! 
For youth's fine fever, heated by the spring — 
Though I am old, yet have I felt the thing — 
Burns out, my girl, in the first hearty kiss 
Given by an honest husband. Heed not this! 

48 



THE NECKEN. 

ASTRID. 

Tis passing strange ! 

Brita. 
Strange, Astrid, fiddlestick f 
Look, yonder come the neighbors ! Girls, be quick ! 
Fetch out some chairs : my cronies are — alas — 
Like me, too stiff to sit upon the grass. [She goes forward 
to welcome her friends.] 

Astrid. 
[To Toa.] Ill I forebode! Above your head, I fear, 
Some dark misfortune gathers! 

Toa. 
No, my dear. 
Come, with a smile now let me round your face, 
Which lengthens so. Look on this little space, 
Where leaves with sun and shadow are at play, 
And sweet birds sing their joyous roundelay 
To the gay flowers, dancing to and fro 
With wanton breezes, as they come and go 
Lightfooted o'er the grass of emerald green; 
A fairer hall than this was never seen 
In the new-garnished house of spring ! You search 
For evil days to come when yonder birch 
Sways softly to the music of the pine; 
Each solemn fir is decked with tassels fine, 
Their garlands wave the branches of the larch, 
While high above us blue the heavens arch 
Their bridge, o'er which cloud follows cloud like sheep, 
Westward to far, green pastures in the deep? 

49 



THE NECKEN. 

Be merry then ! I feel the sovereign day 

Of my whole life will be this first of May! 

[Exeunt Toa and Astrid. They reenter with Lennart 
and Sigurd bringing chairs. Inga follows them. Brita 
goes forward to greet the peasants: men, women and 
children, who enter with Sven. The younger ones group 
themselves about Astrid and Toa, talking.] 

Brita. 
Good friends, you are right welcome ! 

Sven. 
That they are! 
[To an old woman.] 

'Tis many months since you have walked so far, 
I'll wager, mother Svanhild ! Sit you here. 
A mug of home-brewed, Inga, foaming clear, 
To freshen her a bit. 

Svanhild. 

I thank you, Sven. 
I'll rest my weary bones awhile, and then 
Together of the good, old time we'll chat; 
These young ones can't remember. 

Sven. 
True. 

First Woman. 

Is that 
Indeed your daughter, Brita, grown so tall? 

Second Woman. 
A comely maiden ! 

50 



THE NECKEN. 

Third Woman. 
Yes. 

SVEN. 

These people .all 
Are thirsty ! Inga ! Astrid ! Toa ! Cease 
Your gossip, girls ! 

Lennart. 
My tongue cleaves to my 

Inga. 

Peace ! 
They're never filled with food and drink, these men ! 
But still they cry for more ! 

Torvald. 

The season, Sven, 
Is forward for the plowing. Your big field 
You've planted all with wheat, eh? Will it yield, 
Think you, the last year's crop? 

Sven. 
I hope so. 

Child. 

Cake! 
Please, one more cake ! 

Third Woman. 
No, greedy! 

Brita. 

Let her take 
Another bit, poor child ! 

5i 



THE NECKEN. 

Third Woman. 
[Giving the child cake.] So! 

Brita. 

Have you heard 
She has another grandson ? 

Fourth Woman. 

Not a word ! 
We live so far from town, next week the news 
Will come our way belated. Did she use 
The midwife from our village? 

Third Woman. 

Into fits 
That woman frightens me ! They say, her wits 
She loses at hard labor. 

Astrid. 
[Coming forivard with the young group.] 

You were wed 
I dreamed last night to Inga, Lennart. 



First Youth. 
He grows up to his hair ! 

Second Youth. 
Poor Lennart ! 

Lennart. 
Nay! 

52 



Red 



THE NECKEN. 

Third Youth. 
Deep will we pledge you on the wedding day ! 

First Maiden. 
Will you invite us, Inga? Do! 

Inga. 

Now hold 
Your silly tongues, which somewhat overbold 
Make free with my good name ! No man in town 
Would I be fool enough to wed ! 

Second Maiden. 

Your gown 
Is new ? A pretty color ! 

First Maiden. 

At the fair 
I bought it. 

Third Maiden. 

What ails Toa? Standing there 
Alone, apart from all the rest ! As still 
As church in sermon-time ; say what you will ! 

Astrid. 
'Tis nothing ; let her be ! 

Third Maiden. 

They hover near; 
The bashful boys, and whisper in her ear 
Their foolery in vain, she pays no heed ; 

53 



THE NECKEN. 

Her blue, unseeing eyes smile on indeed, 
As at some lover 

Fourth Maiden. 

Hush ! If in her sleep 
She walks and talks, behind her I will creep; 
I warrant you, I'll rouse her from her trance ! 
Wake, [creeps up behind Toa] wake! Oh, Toa mine! 

Toa. 
[Starting from her revery.] A dance ! a dance! 

Voices. 
Aye, aye, the very thing! 

Men. 
A dance ! 

First Maiden. 



Alas! 



We have no music, else upon this grass, 
Short, smooth, we'd foot it finely ! 



First Youth. 

Is there none 
Who has a fiddle here? 

Toa. 
[Slowly, as if awaking from sleep.] 

Ah! There is one! 
Now I remember — I — a moment wait, 
And I will fetch it. 

54 



THE NECKEN. 
Voices. 



Go! [Exit To a.] 



Fourth Woman. 

Tis growing late ; 
We must be on our way. 

Brita. 
[Waking up.] What is't they do? 

Lennart. 
[To Inga.] Will you dance, Inga? 

Inga. 
[Accepting his arm.] Are you crazy, too? 

Second Woman. 
The young folks are for dancing. 

Second Maiden. 
[To Astrid aside.] Astrid, pray 
Why do you blush when Sigurd looks your way ? 
Oh, never fear, he'll ask you. 

Astrid. 
[Boxing her ear.] Peace! 

Sven. 

That's right; 
Young fellows, to it ! Dance out half the night ! 

55 



THE NECKEN. 

We've pretty girls in plenty! [To Fourth Woman.] 

Do not go! 

[Enter Toa with the violin.] 

How now, a fiddle, child? 

Third Woman. 

I did not know 
Your daughter played, good Brita? 

Brita. 
[To Astrid.] Tell me where 
She found that fiddle, Astrid ? Will she dare 
To play upon it, when she cannot name 
A single note of music ? 

Astrid. 

Whence it came 
I know not, but I know i' the very nick 
Of time it comes for dancing. 

Toa. 
[Placing herself at the end of the meadow next the house.] 
Choose, for the dance begins ! 

[She appeals to sink again into revery. There is a pause, all 
looking at her.] 

Brita. 

That fiddle odd 
I've seen before — somewhere 

First Woman. 

Begins to nod 
Old mother Svanhild 

56 



THE NECKEN. 

Fourth Woman. 
Hush ! 
[Toa begins, playing softly at first; they begin to dance.] 

Torvald. 

Oho, my friend, 
Your daughter has the gift ! 

Brita. 
[Low.] Now heaven send 

This be not what I fear ! 

Sven. 



I never yet 



Have seen her play the fiddle! 

Torvald. 
My crippled leg to dancing soon ! 



She will set 



Youths. 
[Stamping their feet and clapping their hands.] Yuhe! 
[Music grows more animated, and Toa becomes more and 
more absorbed by it.] 

Child. 
Oh, mother, I must join the dancing! 

Third Woman. 
Stay! 

[Child catches the dog by his fore paws as he comes run- 
ning in, and whirls around with him.] 

57 



THE NECKEN. 

Child. 
The dog shall be my partner ! 
[The Music and dancing groiv wilder.] 

First Woman. 
[To Second Woman.] Let us try! 
I never heard such fiddling ! 

Second Woman. 
No, nor I ! 
[They dance. A top spins across the stage.] 

Svanhild. 
[In her sleep.] The elfin music, hark ! Th' eleventh change 
Sets all the world a-dancing ! 

Third Woman. 

This is strange! 
[Music and dancing grow wilder still; Toa sways with it.] 
Oh, I can sit no longer ; I must beat 
The magic measure out ! 

Fourth Woman. 

My twitching feet 
Waltz me unwilling to the dance ! 
[They dance.] 

Brita. 
[Rushing forzvard.] Away 
Cast that accursed fiddle, child! 

58 



THE NECKEN. 

Youths. 
[Stamping their feet and clapping their hands.] Yuhe! 
[Old men and women join in the dancing as the music 
grows wilder still.] 

Toa. 
Fast I am bound ; I cannot ! 

Svanhild. 
[In her sleep.] Oh, beware 

That old, bewitching strain ! 

Brita. 
Bound ! Oh, despair ! 

Sven. 
[Striding forward.] 
You shall not disobey me, Toa, drop 
That bow of evil omen ! 

Voices. 
Stop, oh, stop! 
[A cart-wheel rolls across the stage.] 

Toa. 
[With rapture.] Swayed by the melody as in a boat, 
On toward the master stream I float, I float ! 

Svanhild. 
[In her sleep.] The charm is working, working, welladay ! 

Toa. 
Swift by the rushing music borne 

59 



THE NECKEN. 

Youths. 
[Stamping their feet and clapping their hands wildly.] 
Yuhe! 
[Pans, chairs, tables, etc., roll across the stage.] 

Toa. 
On, on, although the thunder of the fall 
Grows in mine ears, yet when the waters call 

Voice. 
She's mad ! With rolling beat of muffled drum 

Voices. 
The music marches now ! 

Toa. 
[In ecstasy.] I come, I come ! 

[The music changes to a march as she goes out. The cur- 
tain falls on all dancing.] 



ACT II. 

Scene 2. 

SCENE: The brook, overhung by trees, through which 
shine the crescent moon and evening star, while the glow 
of sunset still lingers in the zvest. A flight of stone steps 
with a seat halfway down leads to the water. Beside the 
brook, on a rock partly in the zvater, is seen the figure of 
Necken dim in the dusk; he is clad in gleaming scales. 
There is a long pause. Necken lifts his head and listens. 
No sound is audible. Pause; he listens again. 

60 



THE NEC KEN. 

Necken. 
Hoho, a sound ! 

The sound of music wafted from afar, 
Which I have longed to hear ! 

[He listens again.] 
At last ! I wait ; 
Day after day crawls on here to the week, 
The slowly rounding month, my vengeful purpose 
With my deep patience swelling ! 
[He listens again; a faint sound of music is now heard.] 

Patience, ebb, 
Now ebb away; the clock of time has struck 
Mine hour! 

[The music grows louder.] 
Again that music ! Haughty man, 
You would not suffer my imploring eyes 
To read life's time-worn book, whose crabbed text 
Hides, locked within its ancient characters 
By some primeval hand, th' Eternal Hope. 
Instead, well, did you ground me, damnably, 
In all the biting comment which your act 
Scores on its yellowing leaf ! For this, be sure, 
I deeply now will plunge myself and you 
In mingled love and hate ! 
[The music grows louder, and Toa appears at the entrance 

of the wood. She advances, still playing the violin.] 
Herself, by all the witchery of Spring! 
Oh, Spring, and Music both, I thank ye, Powers, 
That you have caught the maiden in your snare ! 
Fat sacrifice I'll offer; finny firstlings 
Of all my streams and rivers! 

61 



THE NECKEN. 

Toa. 
[Calling.] Open, love! 

Necken. 
[Half raising himself from the brook.] 
Who comes a-knocking at the Necken's door? 

Toa. 
[She stops playing and stands at the top of the steps, hold- 
ing her bow and violin in her left hand, her right out- 
stretched as if groping. The music continues very low. 
She speaks as if in her sleep.] 
I, Toa. 

Necken. 
Toa! In the name of wonder, 
Whom seek you here? 

Toa. 
[As before.] My Necken-love. 

Necken. 

For shame ! 
Do man's fair daughters lightly come a-wooing 
The sons of gods? 

Toa. 
I pray you open, love ! 

Necken. 
Who talks of love ! What, will you beg a kiss 
Of "heathen Neck," "Man's pale reflection?" Such 
You called me once when you despised my love. 
I hurl now back at you your words of scorn : 
I well remember them, though but the ghost 

62 



THE NECKEN. 

Of mighty floods, or — lower, when I choose 

To play the brute ; as now ! 

[He takes the form of a white horse leaping out of the 
brook, then resumes his own shape.] 

Ha ! will you go ! 
I must be merry ; for — ha ! ha ! — you tickle 
My churlish humor ! Let me laugh awhile ! 
For what have I to do with love-sick maids ! 
Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! 

[Throwing his head back and laughing.] 

Mine eyes run o'er with laughter! 
[Toa begins to descend the steps, her violin still playing 

softly.] 
Ye gods ! Look where she comes ! 







Toa. 


I, Toa 




Necken. 


[Softly.] 


Toa 


Toa. 


Pardon, I 


implore ! 




Love, open wide those 


arms 



Necken. 

To take you in ? 
[He springs up the steps zvith outstretched arms, but pauses 

in the act of clasping her. He speak very softly.] 
You, Toa? 

Toa. 
[Dreamily as before] Toa. 

63 



THE NECKEN. 

Necken. 
[Throwing his arms round her.] 

Now, by Mother Earth, 
Mine, soul and body — said I not — forever! 
I, kissing, seal you here, and here, and here ! 
Mine, mine this braided wealth of yellow hair, 
Silken as flax; these eyes of blue, whose fire, 
Caught from mine own at last, the drooping lids 
Would hide from me, and this fair cheek that burns 
With quickened blood at pressure of my lips, 
The sweet mouth, tremulous, and yielding me 
Now kiss for kiss, the brow, the neck of snow, 
And bosom heaving mutinous with sighs, 
Where pants the heart for love, my love, at last; 
Of all this tender round of you which frames 
Your maiden soul I'm master ; and of that, 
Aye, by the gods, of that ! Ah, I have lived 
A thousand years of longing in each hour 
These miserable months ! But you shall make 
Amends for all, and grant me bliss, such bliss 
As baffles time to measure out in years ! 
Back, ripple back, ye panels of my door ! 
My sweetheart, enter in ! Down, down with me 
Sink to my crystal hall, where I will cool 
My passion fierce as hate. 
[With his arm about her he leads her down slowly, step by 

step. She leans on him, holding the violin and bow in 

one hand; the violin still sounding.] 

Aye, you shall mingle 
With all my element ; as soft the cloud 
Melts into rain, I, clinging drop by drop, 

64 



THE NECKEN. 

Will kiss away in cold, delicious death 

The mortal maid who dared the Necken's love. 

Toa. 
[Descending the first of the last three steps, pauses.] 
Oh, love, behold, 
How the water cold, 
Reaching up its arm so green, 
Fain would clutch me ! Do I lean 
On that arm? A shudder sweeps 
Over me ! 

Necken. 
The water keeps 
What it catches ; down ! 

Toa. 
[On the next step.] Woe, woe, 
Woe is me ! 
For now I see 
With opened eyes 
Beneath the bank 
Of grasses dank, 
Despite the gloom 

Necken. 
[Ironically.] Oh, fair surprise! 

Toa. 
The nuptial room, 
Rounded by a water-drop 

Necken. 
[Laughs mockingly.] 
No, by a trembling woman's tear. 

65 



THE NECKEN. 

Toa. 
And mirrored in its glassy top — 

Necken. 
[Mocking.] Shall love's sweet pleasure be, my dear. 

Toa. 

That bending tree 

Necken. 
Let be, let be ! 

Toa. 
The lonely star of eve shines through; 
And broken through its moving walls 

Necken. 
Delay no longer ! 

Toa. 

Moonlight falls: 
There, Necken, must I dwell with you 
Forever ? Nay ! 

Necken. 
[Trying to draw her dozvn to the last step.] 
Give o'er, give o'er 
This vain entreaty ! 

Toa. 
[ Wildly. ] Nevermore 
Gather with me in the sun 
My beloved, one by one 
At the church on Sunday morn, 
When across the fields is borne 

66 



THE NECKEN. 

The clear church-bell, 
To prayer, to prayer 
Calling, I shall list 

N EC KEN. 

Forbear ! 

Toa. 
While I weep below, 
Evermore that Christian bell 
Rolling, tolling like a knell, 
Tolling down 
From the praying town ; 
But nevermore 
Thither shall I go ! 

Necken. 

I charge you, wailing woman, have a care ! 

I am no patient bridegroom waiting here 

At your caprice ; the cold and sluggish blood 

Of men this is not, racing through my veins, 

And, if you with my demon passion play, 

Straight will I turn and rend you ! Come then, come, 

My sweet, my life, come down, or else I swear 

That I will snatch you in my amorous arms 

And leap with you in the up-splashing stream ! 



Toa. 



[Wringing her hands.] 
I shall hear them pray 
Yonder in the town 
For a soul in sin. 
[The Necken starts.] 
Faintly down and down, 



67 



THE NECKEN. 

Hark, the prayer is rung! 
From your iron tongue, 
Passing-bell ; you toll 
For a dying soul; 
Be the masses said, 
For a soul is dead — 

Necken. 
My heaven — my hell 

Toa. 
In my wedding gown. 

Necken. 
I grasp you, cease ! 

Toa. 

As I moan within, 

I shall hear them pray. 

Necken. 
[Taming aside.] What care I for sin; 
A spirit damned forever! [He laughs harshly.] 

Toa. 

Oh, release 
My struggling soul ! 

Necken. 
I cannot ! Hold your peace ! 

Toa. 
Be merciful ! You will not wrong me so ; 
To drag my spotless soul with yours below, 
Sin-blackened, lost! 

68 



THE NECKEN. 

N.ECKEN. 

Now, in an angry sea 
Of doubt I toss !— I sink !— I 

Toa. 

Pity me ! 

Necken. 
[Covering his averted face with Ids hands.] 
Drown with my wrecked revenge? Shall I? — 

Toa. 

Relent! 
There yet is fleeting time ! Kind Neck, repent, 
And let me go ! [Pause.] 



Necken. 

Toa, entreat no more! My heart you wring! [Pause.] 

Though I be damned, I will not do this thing ! 

Though I be lost in sin, I'll not ensnare 

Another, but alone my torment bear! 

[Seises the old scythe hanging at his belt. 

Smite, iron, thou of old the penance stern, 

That salved the smarting breast; smite, shattering 

This pagan spell of sense ! 

[He breaks the strings of the violin. The music stops. 
Toa gives a cry, and covers her face with her hands, 
reeling. He catches her in his arms and drags her back 
from the water, placing her on the seat. Pause.] 

69 



THE NEC KEN. 

Necken. 

Look up ! The storm is over ! Toa, calm 
Your shaking fear ! 

Toa. 
[Uncovers her eyes and looks around.] 
Alas ! Where am I ? Whither 
Oh, wild ones, am I hurried? In mine ears 
The rising waters roar, about me flinging 
Their supple arms, strong as the dappled snake, 
They drag me down ! The leap ! — the depth below ! 
The ghastly sights ! — Ah, no, no, in your face 
I read the truth : you ; it was you alone 
That drew me down ! You fought against my soul 
And strove to wrest it from the Heavenly Powers, 
Hurling it to perdition with yourself. 
But now — though trembling still, I scarce believe it — 
Your brow is clear from that black cloud of anger 
Whence flashed, more dreadful in its lurid play — 
Heaven pity you ! — a passion wild and strange. 
Now melts your look to gentleness and pity; 
By good triumphant, now you set your foot 
Firm on your evil self, and thus you stand 
For this proud moment high as man himself! 
Spirit of Nature, from her outer dark, 
Where you must wail forever, you have given 
My soul back to the light ! Though heaven be shut 
To you ; once more to me, you open mine ! 
I thank you from my heart, whose every beat 
Henceforth shall whisper gratitude to you! 
But you 

70 



THE NEC KEN. 



Necken. 



Enough, my Toa, you are safe. 
No more up-flaring horror in your eyes 
Shall scorch me to the soul ; nay, I have none, 
Caught in the raging whirlpool of my passion, 
Sucked down to sin ! But now wells up once more 
My level mind ; and creeping to your feet — 
The little feet, which wandered to my door — 
Bedews them humbly with repentant tears 
In token of farewell; for here we part 
Forever. Earthly maid, who loved me not, 
Whom I have loved so well, so tenderly, 
And shall with every wave, with every ripple, 
Till rivers run no more, adieu ! adieu ! 
For in this hour austere, heroic grown, 
Love conquers passion, and I mount, I mount, 
Perchance, above my pain to higher things : 
Uprooted from my life, I cast you now 
Back to the world that scorned me ; I, henceforth, 
With music make my solitary home 
Along the willow-fringed river-banks; 
There man shall hear me playing, if he chance, 
Late on some melancholy, autumn eve, 
To light upon me, sitting pensive there 
In a pale blessedness, as of the moon, 
Cold, cold, yet sweet, for also they are blessed 
Who touch the clear-vibrating strings to joy, 
Or the wild plaint of grief. 

[Cries are heard in the distance.] 

They call — they seek you ! 
Fair child of man — nay, mine you are — ye gods, 

71 



THE NECKEN. 

That I must yield you up ! Yet there is something, 

I scarcely know if it be love, commands, 

And I obey. I dare not kiss the lips 

Which I profaned ! Dear maid, my sweetheart once, 

Adieu ! 

[Figures are seen advancing from a distance. The Necken 

takes up his violin and steps down to the river, but stops 

on the last step, and turns toward Toa.] 
Behold — the lightning of a sudden thought, 
Sent flashing through my brain, illuminates 
My blind and groping sorrow : can it be, 
That I, the lost, may enter through this gate, 
Which opens like a star, set tremulous, 
In the dark night of loss ? For I have loved, 

Have suffered — sacrificed! If I be saved 

And this strange rapture singing through my grief 

Would seem to tell me so — I know not, I, 

Nor shall know, but I live henceforth in hope. 

[As he sinks into the stream, enter Brita, Astrid and 

Inga calling.] 

Toa. 
[Stretching out her arms tozuard the zvater.] 

Stay ! 

Astrid. 
Toa ! The saints be praised ! We find you here ! 
Long have we sought for you ! 

Brita. 
[Hurrying down the steps to Toa, who has remained sitting 

on the stone seat.] 
My child ! Unharmed ! 
[Enter Sven, Sigurd, Lennart and the other peasants.] 

7 2 



THE NECKEN. 



To A. 



[Passing her hand over her eyes as if dazed.] 

Oh, mother, mother, I have slept and dreamed 

A thing so terrible, so wondrous sweet, 

That, as it grew, methought I should have breathed 

My life out with the vision, but, alas ! — 

And I must bear this, mother, till I die — 

Love bowed his strength remorseful at my feet 

In anguished tears, and, troubling my young heart, 

Was gone, as swiftly fled the waking dream. 



73 



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